


no desire to suffer twice (in reality and in retrospect)

by notbang



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Melodrama, Minor Character Death, With a dash of character growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 23:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notbang/pseuds/notbang
Summary: A letter arrives from Rebecca, and Nathaniel's life unravels from there. Post 3x05.





	no desire to suffer twice (in reality and in retrospect)

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at reconciling my obsession with this trash pairing with where Rebecca is vs where we all want her to be. I haven't written anything in basically forever and this probably should have been a chapter fic but my brain doesn't work like that so excuse the length and possible awkward flow. Oh yeah, and somehow this ended up being 98% dialogue because these two nerds wouldn't stop talking.

It's an otherwise ordinary Friday - long, too warm, and undercut by a distinct air of lack of productivity - when Nathaniel finds himself pulled from his desk in frustration to investigate the latest flurry of uncontained commotion taking place outside his office.

“Is it too much to ask that anybody around here focuses on their damn jobs for more than thirty seconds at a time?” he demands, surveying the small crowd forming by the front desk.

“A package came from Rebecca,” Maya supplies helpfully.

He pauses near her cubicle and frowns.

“From Rebecca? What kind of package?”

“It had a bunch of envelopes with people’s names on them. I think there may have been one for you. And oh em gee, she also sent a box of novelty dinosaur donuts decorated to look like classic cult movie characters that are _totally_ Instagram worthy. My hashtag Napoleon Dinomite snap already has sixty four likes. Want one?”

“Do I look like I eat donuts to you?” he snaps at her in annoyance. “Where is this package, anyway? Give me that.” Nathaniel snatches the stack of envelopes out of Darryl’s hand, who to his credit only looks slightly wounded. “What are all these? Invites to her latest harebrained scheme, hmm?”

“Paula said that as part of her therapy, Rebecca is writing letters to the important people in her life to help her deal with any unresolved issues she may have with them,” Darryl explains earnestly. “I think it sounds like a powerful healing exercise. Very therapeutic.”

Nathaniel thumbs agitatedly through the small stack until he’s staring at his own name. His mouth feels suddenly dry.

“What it sounds like,” he enunciates loudly, looking around to ensure he's captured the attention of everyone, “is another distraction. So you can all open these on your own time, and go back to doing the thing it is that I pay you for, _which – is – your - jobs_. And get those damn donuts out of here. You guys know how I feel about sugar and carbs.”

He shoves the letter from Rebecca into his jacket pocket and tosses the rest of them back at Darryl before stalking back to his office and slamming the door.

 

* * *

 

Two days later and the envelope is still lying accusingly on his desk, and for reasons he doesn’t care to examine particularly closely, he still can’t bring himself to open it.

The closest he comes is picking it up and turning it over in his hands, thumb sliding tentatively over the sealed edge only to drop it like it’s burned him when he spots Darryl watching him through the glass. Darryl sniffs sympathetically, raising his own envelope in salute before pressing it fondly to his chest and retreating to his office, oblivious to Nathaniel’s glare.

“Quit being such a coward, captain,” he tells himself, pelting his polo ball into the net atop his cabinets a few times for good measure. “What’s the worst she could have written?”

After double checking his door is well and truly locked he sinks back into his leather chair and steadies himself with four deep, even breaths. He fumbles in his desk for a letter opener and slides the tip neatly under the flap.

Inside is an off-white notecard with _THANK YOU_ emblazoned on the front in a simple but elegant script. Frowning, he flips it over.

 

_To Nathaniel_

_Thank you for the basket of soothing bath salts and artisanal pears._

_Warm regards,_

_Rebecca Bunch_

 

He stares at it for a moment, assuming he’s missing something; he flips it over and reads it again before checking the envelope for the rest of it. There’s nothing there.

His pulse thuds loudly in his ears.

“I’m stepping out, nobody follow me or do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he announces loudly as he strides out of his office.

“Poor guy,” Darryl says wistfully to Maya as he watches Nathaniel go. “Rebecca must have dropped some real truth bombs.”

“Preach,” Maya agrees.

 

* * *

 

To her credit Rebecca only looks mildly taken aback when she opens the door he’d started somewhat aggressively pounding on upon his arrival.

“Nathaniel? What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at wor-”

“What the hell is this?” he interrupts, holding up the card she’d sent him.

“Uh, it’s a thank you note. One that you specifically requested, might I add. So, you’re welcome.”

“Paula got a small novel, which granted, makes sense. Darryl got a three page elegy that left him dramatically sobbing and completely incapable of doing his job for two days straight.”

“I know that Darryl is a sensitive guy that enjoys branching out and appreciating a wide range of art forms,” she says defensively, crossing her arms.

“Jim got a letter, Rebecca! Jim! Have you ever spoken to Jim in your life?”

“Ehhh, we used to have a kind of an unspoken will-they-won’t-they thing and -”

“ _Rebecca.”_

He’s still waving the note around at her and she softens and relents, snatching it off him and staring down at it before wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know what to say. I know you’re not huge on talking about your feelings and we kind of left things in a really weird place and I didn’t know where to start. So I started here.”

Nathaniel lets out a long breath through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his shoes in chagrin as the realisation that he’s harassing an unwell person hits him. He straightens his tie in an attempt to collect himself.

Rebecca’s still looking down at the card and shifting uncomfortably on her feet when she continues on, barely above a mutter.

“Seriously, though, why do you even care? It’s not like we knew each other that long and you’re not my boss anymore.”

When he doesn’t reply she lifts her gaze and stares at him, drinking in his pained and bashful expression.

_Oh._

“Seriously?” she asks in genuine bewilderment. “Even after I basically used you to try and flee the country and seeing everything in that dumb file and watching me yell horrible, horrible things at everyone I care about?”

“Rebecca – I almost had a man _killed_ because I wanted to make you happy _,_ ” he murmurs. “Did you really think I’d be scared off because you ran over a beautician’s cat and untactfully told some people a bunch of things that were basically all true?”

“Wow, I – I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t own a cat, or any living thing for that matter besides a couple of plants. I’m not particularly invested in them. I’d definitely prefer it if you didn’t burn my apartment down, but I could live with it if you did. I have insurance. Like, lots of insurance. Air tight. And everything in it is just… stuff. It doesn’t matter. You can always buy more stuff. What I can’t buy is… “ He gestures awkwardly between them. “Whatever this is.”

She runs her tongue along her front teeth and holds a finger up at him.

“So just for the record, giving me permission to burn your apartment down is a little inappropriate on several levels and not really conducive to the safe space of my recovery, but I’m going to let it slide because I see the sentiment behind what you’re saying and Nathaniel, it’s super sweet. Really. But I can’t do this now. You get that right? Not in an old Rebecca, I’m-too-preoccupied-with-my-own-drama-to-validate-your-feelings kind of way, but in a I-really-need-to-take-some-time-to-focus-on-self-care kind of way.”

Nathaniel groans in frustration at himself.

“You’re right, I’m so sorry. This was a terrible idea. I don’t really know why I’m here. You’ve just gotten out of hospital, and here am I, standing on your porch and yelling about my feelings like you don’t have your own stuff going on.”

He stops to look at her properly for the first time since he arrived and promptly started blurting his emotions out at her feet. Her hair, uneven with regrowth, is pulled back in a messy ponytail and he can clearly see every pale and blotchy inch of her weary face. As his eyes continue down to the rest of her his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his brow furrows in concern at the way her frame completely disappears into her faded t shirt and grey sweats. He doesn’t remember her looking so _small._

Her voice startles him from his thoughts and his eyes travel back up to her face.

“Did you want to, like, come in? In the interest of full disclosure, all of our clothing will be staying on.”

She turns and walks back inside before he can think of an excuse, leaving the door open and giving him no option but to follow her bemusedly inside.

When Heather sees Nathaniel she rolls her eyes.

“Ugh. He’s not gonna like, move in again, is he? Because this time I’m going to have to start charging him rent. He looks like he can afford it.”

He huffs self-consciously and sneaks a glance at Rebecca, who raises her eyebrows.

“Oh yeah. Heard all about that. I want my alligator back, by the way.”

“It’s in the office. You can get it when you come back to work,” he retorts smugly.

“Yeah, if that wasn’t already obvious, that won’t be happening anytime soon,” Heather monotones, turning off the television and dropping the remote unceremoniously onto the couch. “Anyways, I’m going to go finish watching this in my room.”

There’s an awkward silence in which Rebecca rocks back and forth on her feet a few times, her line of vision searching out everything in her kitchen that isn’t him.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks suddenly. “Your options are pretty limited because I’m supposed to be refraining from any chemically mind altering substances that aren’t prescribed by a psychiatrist right now, and I know you don’t drink soda, so… yeah, basically there’s water. We pretty much just have water.”

He opens his mouth to refuse only to realise he’s actually pretty parched.

“Sure. I’ll take whatever water you have on tap.”

She fills two tumblers and passes one to him before sitting down in the space Heather just vacated. He hesitates before choosing the arm chair to her left.

“So. You seem well. Calm.”

“Yeah, well. I’m on like twenty different mood stabilisers right now.”

“Oh. Right.”

She toys with the fraying edge of a woven blanket draped over the back of the couch as they each sip awkwardly at their waters, neither really sure what to say until Rebecca puts her cup down on the coffee table with a soft clink.

“Do you wanna, like… get out of here? I’ll have to tell Heather where I’m going, and preferably not by air or across state lines, but I am capable of carrying myself to the car,” she clarifies at his questioning look. “I just really need a break from being indoors with my thoughts.”

He thinks briefly about all the reports he has waiting for him back at the office.

“How does a drive to San Diego sound?”

 

* * *

 

Despite his secret fondness for the place Nathaniel can’t remember the last time he was at the zoo in the middle of the day, and he feels his nostrils flare in mild annoyance as he surveys the people milling about in every direction.

“Ugh. People are the worst,” he says with distaste.

Rebecca shrugs beside him.

“Eh, I dunno. Some people are kind of okay.”

Her eyes practically light up when Nathaniel produces his annual pass and after a failed attempt at bribing their way into a sold out private big cats tour she opens her mouth to tease him but he cuts her off before she can say anything.

“Don’t start,” he warns as he slides the card back into his wallet and heads towards the refreshment stand.

“Nuh-uh, no way you’re getting off that easy. I have so many questions.”  

He ignores her probing as she trails along after him, jutting his chin towards the counter.

“You want anything?”

She glances at the chalkboard headlined with milkshakes and grimaces, watching with a mixture of disgust and amusement as Nathaniel orders himself some kind of green concoction that he slurps noisily before offering it to her.

“Yeah, hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, brows raised. “So. Where to first?” 

 

She opts to skip the Urban Jungle because the name makes her feel depressed but likes the sound of the tiger trail so they meander west towards the Lost Forest, which seems pretty apt, really. Nathaniel doesn’t end up spending much time looking at any of the animals because he’s too busy noticing the way Rebecca manages to obediently peer into every enclosure they pass without seeming like she’s genuinely _seeing_ anything. He starts to worry his choice of road trip was slightly too adventurous.

“Sorry,” she says as they sit on a ledge overlooking the hippo exhibit. “I forgot how I still feel tired like, basically all the time.”

“Take as long as you need.”

It’s a sunny day but the breeze has a slight chill to it, and Rebecca hugs her arms around herself for comfort as much as warmth.

“So, confession time. That thank you card was kind of a test. I didn’t hear from you, in the hospital, so…”

When she trails off, looking vulnerable and unsure, he glances over at her in shame.

“I came to the hospital with Paula. As soon as we heard. You weren’t taking visitors. I sat there for a few hours in damp swimming shorts and a wrinkled button down and yelled at multiple nurses – it wasn’t my finest hour.”

“Huh, mine either,” she jokes awkwardly, earning herself a glare.

“And then, I went to go see my mom,” he continues. “Which was strange for me. Running home isn’t usually my first instinct in times of duress.”

“Well if your mom is anything like my mom, I’m sorry if I drove you to do that.”

He tips his head in acknowledgement.

“She’s… tolerable. On a good day. And in comparison to my father, kind of a delight.” He hesitates, searching for an explanation he isn’t entirely sure of himself. “I was angry. At myself. You were in a bad place, and I feel like I should have seen that.”

“In your defence, I’m pretty high-functioning. Not to mention the fact that you were blinded by your own complete and utter obsession with me.”

He pulls a face at her and scoffs in denial.

“I was not -”

“The first time we met you literally called me into your office to tell me that you moved here because of me. Like, hello. Could you _be_ any more of a Rebecca?”

“Uh, excuse me, but that was not _remotely_ the same thing.”

“You showed up at my house. In _Lycra._ ”

“Please, I don’t wear Lycra. They were perfectly socially acceptable running shorts. And you - _you_ showed up to my apartment in a trench coat _,_ like something out of the world’s saddest porno -”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly hear you complaining, buddy. It obviously worked.”

Nathaniel clears his throat in amusement.

“Obviously.” He pauses, considering. “And you’re right. I guess I was a little obsessed.”

She makes a tiny pump in the air at the victory of his admission, then taps his leg lightly with her sneaker.

“Your turn. Why the zoo?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long period of time and she’s just about to jab him with her finger when he finally speaks, quietly, shrugging.

“It’s one of the few good memories I have of my childhood. My dad’s firm used to be a corporate sponsor so we’d get these free passes, and my mom would take me sometimes. It wasn’t his kind of thing but my dad had to put in the occasional appearance, all for show of course, but one summer he came with us and it was different, because I remember he wore this shirt – this really _awful_ Hawaiian shirt. So he was in a good mood, or maybe a bad one and he needed to get away, and I got to spend this day at the zoo with my mom in her floaty yellow dress and my dad wearing something other than a suit for once, and I remember looking around and realising -  we looked just like everybody else. I’d never really felt that before, you know? Like my life up until that point had always been about needing to be better than everybody around me. Rising above, not fitting in.”

Rebecca gives him a small but comforting smile.

“You and I had disturbingly similar childhoods.”

“Anyway. The point is, I thought you could do with a dose of normalcy.”

She laughs at that, the sound bubbling up out of her throat and surprising them both.

“Dude, you have no idea.”

 

* * * 

 

When she cautiously tells Paula the reason Nathaniel ended up skipping out on nearly an entire day of work, she’s both concerned and impressed.

“That man hasn’t had a sick day in his life. To _really_ disturbing results. What did you say to him in that letter?”

The thank you card is still sitting half-crumpled on the kitchen counter where she left it after snatching it off him earlier, and she eyes it guiltily before sweeping it off into the trash.

“You know, it’s not really important. But for some reason beyond my comprehension, Nathaniel’s imprinted on me as some kind of beacon of positive influence in his life. Like a baby duck. Like a sad, sexy, suit wearing baby duck. I can’t stomp on that.”

“I mean, I guess that kind of makes sense. Nathaniel was _really_ beat up about you when you went back home to stay with your mom. I don’t know exactly what happened between you, you know, _before,_ because you didn’t really mention anything to me at all, which I get – you were going through some stuff – but Cookie, whatever it was? He had it bad. When you bolted, the guy _literally_ camped out in your bedroom waiting for you to come home.”

“Ugh, is that why my bed smells like rich white guy cologne? I knew I should have washed those sheets,” she mutters before returning to the conversation at hand. “Paula, what do I do? I don’t want to lead him on. Which isn’t to say I don’t want to _not_ lead him on, or that it would _be_ leading him on, per se -”

“Sweetie, do you have feelings for Nathaniel?”

And _boy,_ is that a loaded question.

“I don’t know? I mean, yes. Yes. There are… feelings, of some kind. We had sex - twice. Like, just the one night but twice that one night – anyway it wasn’t bad. It was pretty great actually. And on some basic level we kind of just get each other, you know? But I’m in recovery and I can’t be in a relationship right now and he’s got like, _way_ more issues than anyone could poke a stick at.”

“Starting with but in no way limited to body image, a crippling fear of failure and what I’m certain has to be some kind of dark, repressed childhood emotional trauma,” Paula agrees.

“Yeah, so me. He’s basically me.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, enough about Nathaniel. I can’t deal with him right now. Quick, tell me about something that’s going on in your life – we’ve been so good with our Bechdel test passing lately and I don’t want to break our streak.”

“Well – today, when I bought a nut bar from the vending machine, I got not one, but _two_ extra quarters in my change.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh! And capricciosa pizzas were two for one at Whole Foods.”

“Well now you’re just talking dirty.”

 

* * *

 

She wrote Greg a letter, too.

She wrote Greg a letter but she doesn’t post it, because if what Marco had said is true Greg is _happy,_ and no matter how much that _stings,_ she isn’t about to shit on that, and besides, there’s certain things that warranted mentioning that whilst felt incredibly cathartic spilling out on paper, she was fairly certain Greg really didn’t need to hear. Like, ever.

She doesn’t post it but she isn’t really sure what to do with it, either, so when she’s caught toying with it and startled by an unexpected knock at the door, she opens the nearest chest of drawers and shoves it unceremoniously inside.

“Hey,” Nathaniel says, clearly doing his best to look casual when she opens the door.

“Maybe Heather’s right – we should start charging you rent.”

“Funny. So, I don’t know if this is weird or not, but I was thinking we could… hang. And get to know each other, in a platonic way. Watch a movie or something.”

She raises her eyebrows at the bottle of wine in his hand and he realises the faux pas immediately, grimacing at his own stupidity.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m going to put this back in the car.”

“No, it’s fine. By some great miracle, alcohol was never really one of my vices. You can put it in the fridge. I’m sure Heather wouldn’t say no to a glass or two after being on endless babysitting duty. She can take it as payment for the ongoing inconvenience of your presence.”

It turns out there’s not a huge overlap in their taste in films, and even with cable and Netflix _how is it there’s never anything on?_ – so when he concedes that it’s entirely her choice she makes it her mission in life to comb through the catalogue for the girliest, most embarrassing movie she can find.

Eventually she settles on _The Notebook_ , because forcing her uptight lawyer ex-boss to sit through a Nicholas Sparks film is a torture every girl has at some point dreamt of bestowing upon an unsuspecting boy, she’s sure. He allows her the satisfaction of rolling his eyes dutifully at her selection, and she makes a huge show of gathering multiple tissue boxes from around the house to line the coffee table in front of them.

The thing is though; they never make it to the crying. She realises far too late that she probably should have just gone with _Marley and Me,_ because pointedly trying not to make eye contact with the person sitting next to her every time something mildly romantic happens on the screen turns out to be somewhat of a disconcerting chore. Then there’s the fact that she neglected to remember the entire scene dedicated to the main characters yelling about a stack of letters that were written and never received, and before the whole thing escalates into the adulterous love scene she knows is coming, she panics and hits pause on the remote.

“Yeah, so this movie is dumb. We don’t have to watch it.”

Nathaniel shifts uneasily beside her on the couch and lets out a breath. She’s pretty sure he hasn’t missed the trigger for this particular outburst, though, and she can't help but eye the drawer she’d slammed shut earlier, worrying her lip.

“So here’s the thing. If I had written you a letter, I would have wanted you to know… that I know how it feels to have someone make you feel like there’s glitter exploding inside you. But also that, you know, case in point, glitter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Glitter is…” She gestures to herself. “A mess, man. It gets everywhere and sticks to everything and makes it all a mess. A giant hot mess. And not hot as in sexy, although in my case, absolutely that as well. Obviously. What I’m saying is, don’t be blinded by the glitter.” She hesitates for a moment, not sure if she’s overstepping. “I’ve also come to realise it’s probably a good idea to examine why you’re so desperate for all that glitter in the first place.”

He wants to make a quip about her thoroughly unmanly choice of metaphor but instead ends up letting out a dry laugh and looking down at his hands, nodding.

“Noted. And don’t worry. There was a lot of life re-evaluating going on… after. Not just from me, either.”

She nods as well, satisfied.

After a quiet beat he breaks the tension by proclaiming that she has now forfeited her right to choose the entertainment and takes ownership of the remote, swiping back through the home screen to something he’d spotted earlier.

“No stopping this one, though, because – and I know you’re going to tease me mercilessly for this – I actually haven’t seen it,” he warns, and when she hears the mysterious lilt of Hedwig’s theme begin she slings a pillow into him in excitement.

They talk through the entire thing.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few weeks later when she decides to surprise Paula for lunch on a whim but emerges from the office elevator to an unexpected scene of chaos and confusion. Her shoes crunch when she walks and she looks down at her feet to find the carpet splintered with shards of glass.

“Uh, did you guys get robbed?”

Paula and Darryl are standing outside of Darryl’s former office, having what appears to be a sobering conversation. They both turn at the sound of her voice, and when Paula spots Rebecca she thumps Darryl with a folder and mimes a zipping motion over her lips before walking over.

“Sweetie! What are you doing here?” Paula coos cautiously in an abnormally high voice that Rebecca has definitely come to recognise as an attempt to placate her.

She frowns dismissively.

“I came by to see you. What is going on here? This place is a mess.”

Paula and Darryl exchange a worried glance.

“Nothing,” Darryl quickly supplies. “Just me being clumsy again. You know what I’m like. Anyway, how are you? What are you doing here? Are you coming back to work? So soon?”

They all flinch as he punches the mint bowl off the counter in an attempt to demonstrate his point, the blue wrappers scattering on the floor.

“So first of all, you guys are being super weird. Secondly, Darryl, I’m sorry, no offence, but you’re a terrible liar with no poker face whatsoever, so I’m not really sure how you ever made it this far as a lawyer. But seriously. Guys. What is going on? I can handle it. Somebody spit it out. Maya?”

"Nathaniel’s father died from a heart attack and nobody’s heard from him since yesterday,” Maya supplies in a rush before wincing at the withering glare Paula shoots her and running away.

Rebecca’s eyes widen in disbelief before turning on her friends.

“What? Why would you keep that from me? Oh no. Why didn’t anyone tell me? Paula, why didn’t you tell me?” she demands. “Oh no. Oh god, he’s going to be losing his mind.”

She spins on her heel and manically hammers the button on the elevator.

“Cookie, I know you’re concerned, but you’ve got your own stuff to deal with. We didn’t want to stress you out. You don’t have to -”

“I’m sorry, Paula, and I understand your concern, but I can handle this. For the first time in my life I feel like  I can actually _be_ there for someone, and it’s not about getting closer to Josh or appeasing some inner guilt I’m carrying around. I have been a _really_ shitty friend to a lot of people and I need to change that. It’s important to me that I change that. Now. With this.” She chews her lip. Her voice turns tiny and childlike. “Paula. His _dad._ ”

“Yeah,” Paula sighs. “I know. But please – don’t bite off more than you can chew here.”

She shakes her head as the doors begin to close.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

The Nathaniel that reluctantly answers the door is the most unkempt she’s even seen him, and were it not for the circumstances she might feel some small relief at the knowledge the man is a mere imperfect mortal after all. The shirt she suspects he didn’t just put on this morning is unbuttoned and rolled up haphazard to his elbows, reeking of stale sweat. She takes in the tugged-at and discarded tie looped over the back of a chair and the mostly-empty bottle of scotch on the table behind him as he leans against the door jamb and regards her through weary, bloodshot eyes before running his hand over his two-day old stubble.

“So you smell about as good as you look,” she deadpans, hoping to needle out a reaction, but he only steps away from the door and walks back into his kitchen.

“I’m fine,” he slurs eventually. “Honestly, I’m fine. The guy was a dick.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tuesday. So I’m probably not going to go. Things are kind of busy at the office, still being down a lawyer and all, so…”

“Don’t be facetious,” she says, flopping into the chair opposite him and grabbing the bottle off the table. He’s still cognitive enough to glance at her in concern, she notes, and places it back down, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender before folding them calmly in front of her. “So do we need to organise a car or is that big old family jet going to come for us? Oh, did I not mention?” she adds to his confused look. “I probably should have led with that. I’m coming with you. Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ve already run it past both my sponsors.”

“What? No. Rebecca -”

“I’m doing this for you,” she says with as much sternness as she can muster. “I majored in daddy issues in college, as well as for most of preschool through to high school for that matter, and you, my friend, are textbook. Let me do this for you.”

There’s a raw lump in Nathaniel’s throat the size of a tennis ball and he can’t decide whether to attribute it to the burn of the alcohol, the sting of losing his dad or the stubborn speech the woman in front of him just gave him.

“I don’t need your help. I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, so, I was at the office, and the glass is still all over the floor where you slammed your weird water polo ball into that creepy photo of you and your -”

“Yeah, okay,” he cuts her off, rolling his eyes. “So I had a little outburst. To say my father and I had a complicated relationship would be an understatement. You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to do anything stupid like…” He trails off awkwardly.

“Like me, you mean?” she finishes for him, and he buries his head in his hands and turns away. “Nice, dude. Alright, get up. You’re taking a shower.”

It’s not the most satisfying way to win an argument, but it works.

 

Nathaniel is unnervingly quiet and concerningly pale, even from where she sits towards the back of the church. The service is long and stuffy, and she can’t help but roll her eyes at the excessive time spent detailing Nathaniel Plimpton the Second’s supposed grandiose contributions to society. She gets it, gets that this is what funerals are, especially in these kinds of circles but her fingers twitch in anxious agitation and her nails start to dig little crescent shaped marks into her palms and - _inhale, exhale -_ she needs to focus on her breathing.

The possibility probably should’ve occurred to her that he might be speaking, but somehow it hadn’t crossed her mind; when she hears the words _from his son, Nathaniel_ Rebecca’s stomach lurches and she sits up straighter in her chair.

There’s an awkward stretch of silence as Nathaniel leans heavily over the podium, knuckles turning white where he grasps it at its sides.

“My father wasn’t an easy man to get along with,” he says, and for a long moment that’s it.

Rebecca surveys the room, wide-eyed, praying for his sake that there’s a little more to his terse eulogy than _my father wasn’t an easy man to get along with_.

“He was a fighter, though. A survivor. Anyone in this room that knew him well enough would tell you that.”

“Oh thank god,” she whispers in a rush, letting out the breath she’d been holding as various people around her murmur in agreement.

“He used to have a saying – a lot of sayings, actually. That’s one of the other things about my father – he always had a saying for everything. If he were here right now he’d have one for all this. All these people gathered here, missing work, to stand around and what, swap war stories about a dead guy? He’d hate it. It’d infuriate him. Well, you know what, Pops? Too bad! So you can shut up for once and listen.”

“Uhoh,” Rebecca gulps.

“Who am I kidding. Who are any of us kidding? My father was an asshole.”

“Nathaniel, _that’s quite enough,”_ his mother hisses, approaching him only to have him wave her off.

There are visible tears pricking at his eyes, now, and his breathing is excessively laboured and uneven, and Rebecca knows the beginnings of a panic attack when she sees one but she isn’t sure what to do until she finds herself standing, suddenly, and staring wide-eyed right at him.

He apparently catches the movement in his periphery because his eyes snap to her and he stills somewhat, chest heaving. He holds her gaze - _one, two, three, four…_

“I – I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the microphone, tugging at his tie. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t really feel like talking right now,” he tells her flatly when she finds him afterwards, sat leaning against a brick wall, his open tie draped over his shoulder and the top buttons of his shirt ripped unceremoniously open.

“Luckily, I happen to be really good at one sided conversations,” she quips, tugging on the hem of her dress as she lowers herself down beside him. “Just so you know though, in terms of dramatic emotional meltdowns in a place of worship, that was, like, a C minus at best. Next time, if you want to up your game, you should really consider costumes or visual aids.  You can borrow my wedding dress if you want. I kind of need to get rid of it anyway.” True to his word he gives her nothing, so she continues on. “Look. Nathaniel. You’ve spent your entire life seeking your stupid father’s approval and now it’s gone. I get it. Not that it was particularly attainable to begin with, if he was anything like mine. I mean, your dad’s not _the worst,_ because my dad, is like, objectively the worst, but I’d be open to awarding him a pretty close second if you insisted.”

He shakes his head and smiles wryly at her.

“Rebecca, why are you here?”

“In this courtyard specifically?”

“No. Why did you come here with me? To echo your own sentiments – why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because,” she shrugs, staring at him pointedly. “I know what it’s like to care about what your father thinks. Even if you wish you didn’t. Yeah, you’re not the only one that can do the quotey thing.” 

 

The wake is exactly the kind of uptight affair Rebecca expected from a family like the Plimptons, and she spends the majority of it watching Nathaniel from across the room as he shakes hands with and gets slapped on the back by various old white men in suits doing their best to pretend he didn’t just crash his own father’s funeral.

She takes pride in the fact that she doesn’t falter when she introduces herself to Nathaniel’s mom and explains that she’s come to pay her respects on behalf of Whitefeather and Associates, despite the ache in her chest she feels at the lie. It’s probably for the best that she came in Darryl’s place, anyway – the guy would have been an awkward, bumbling mess and Nathaniel could really do without the added embarrassment at this point.

“Hor d’oeuvre?”

The offer comes from a lady hovering by the table to her left, and as she turns to respond, despite the unfamiliar face, Rebecca feels uncannily like they’ve met before.

“Um, no thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“You must be Nathaniel’s wife,” the woman observes, and it suddenly clicks where Rebecca recognises her from.

_Well, fuck._

“Oh, no. We’re not married. We’re not… anything, actually. Work colleagues. I’m here for moral support. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” the woman hums in response, and Rebecca remembers with a flush of embarrassment that by masquerade standards she and Nathaniel hadn’t exactly been discrete.

She feels the pinch of anxiety in her chest as she wonders what part this woman’s husband had played in their misguided attempt at destruction and how much, if any, she knew of it. She’s making a point of measuring her breaths and trying not to search too hard for an exit when she startles at a hand on the small of her back; Nathaniel is back beside her for the first time in two hours and she can’t help but expel a sigh of relief at his impeccable sense of timing as he politely passes her a wine glass.

“It’s lemonade from the kids table,” he murmurs conspiratorially in her ear before forcing a cordial smile at the woman in front of him. “Celeste,” he acknowledges.

“Nathaniel, I’m so sorry about your father. I never had the pleasure of meeting him personally but he was a respected acquaintance of my husband.”

Rebecca gratefully downs her glass and winces at the sugar hit, nevertheless relaxing somewhat.

“Your thoughts are appreciated, thank you. Celeste, would you mind excusing us?”

The woman tips her head in assent, tipping her champagne glass in Rebecca’s direction with a knowing smile.

“Ugh. Please don’t make me talk to that woman ever again. I’m worried her disgusting sense of privilege might be contagious.”

                                                

They’re inevitably separated again by his polite but unenthused mingling, and when she spies him escaping quietly upstairs she gives him a fifteen minute head start before seeking him out. She walks the carpeted hallway and peers curiously into each open door, her search ending unsurprisingly at the threshold to Nathaniel Senior’s study.

He’s startled from his reverie her tentative knock and looks up at her hovering in the doorway.

“Everything okay? You kind of went AWOL on me there and as you're probably already aware I’m not really a fan favourite conversationalist in WASP-y Republican crowds.”

He stares at her for a moment, brow heavily furrowed before glancing back down at the papers he’s sprawled across his father’s desk.

“Isn’t this the part in the movie where I’m supposed to find some old Father’s Day card that he’s held onto for twenty five years, proving he did have some semblance of a heart after all?”

“Yeah, but we’re not in a movie. Sometimes people are just dicks for no reason – I’ve got a whole song about it that I came up with when I was working through some stuff, but yeah, now’s not the time,” she quickly backtracks, sliding into one of the chairs opposite him. Her eyes dart around the office, drinking in all the mahogany. “You know your granddad – he seems like a pretty hard man himself.”

“He is,” Nathaniel agrees easily. “He and my father are very much alike.”

“So your father grew up to be his father. Life can be annoyingly cyclical that way. But Nathaniel, you don’t have to be your dad.” At his pained expression she emphasises, “You might have the same name as him, but you’re not your dad. And that’s not failure. That’s breaking a shitty pattern. That’s evolving.”

“And you really believe that? That people can just… evolve?”

Her brows knit together and she pulls a face like it’s the stupidest question she’s ever heard.

“Of course I do. If I didn’t, what hope would there be for a giant fuck up like me?” She tilts her head at him, indicating towards the door. “Now c’mon. I’m gonna need a pit stop at a burrito place on the way back though because all that weird miniature finger food _really_ doesn’t cut it for me.”

 

* * *

 

The next day she decides she’s returning an overdue favour and helping him take his mind off things.

“So I’m kidnapping you. But first you have to go change.”

She’s wearing a yellow sundress – _and are those pearls around her neck? -_ covered in black and white flowers and her hair is twisted up onto her head but spilling out in loose tendrils that remind him of the way she had it that night at the party, windswept and wild from the stupid helicopter. She looks sunny and carefree and _healthy_ , the best she has in awhile, and Nathaniel feels a pleasant warmth spread through him at the observation.

“Into what? I’m already dressed.”

“Yeah, you’re not wearing that.” She thrusts a bag in his direction. “It’s the worst I could find on short notice.”

Inside is a deep red shirt intensely emblazoned with sun-kissed palm trees. It’s definitely not the most obnoxious Hawaiian he’s ever seen, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to be caught dead in it, regardless.

“So how exactly does dressing up like my parents fit in to your insistence that I don’t have to become my father?”

“Wait what? No, we’re not dressing up like your…” Her eyes slide upward in thought and she bites her lip, considering it. “Okay yeah, we are kind of dressing up like your parents, I see that now. But that wasn’t what I was going for. I was trying to do a bit here, with all the stuff you said about dressing like normal people, but now you’ve made it weird,” she pouts.

He laughs at her put-out expression and raises his hands in surrender.

“How about I put some of my own clothes on, and you tell me if you can work with that?”

“Okay. Yeah okay, let’s do that.”

He changes into an old pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt, emerging rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously when Rebecca widens her eyes at him because, yeah, wow, it’s actually kind of doing it for her.

“Woah. You look… strangely normal.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But I did go to the effort of buying this dumb shirt, so if you’re not going to wear it I guess I’ll have to.”

She pulls the shirt on loose over her dress and objectively Nathaniel knows it looks ridiculous, but at the same time finds himself swallowing because as if it wasn’t enough having the image of her wearing nothing but his white dress shirt permanently burned into his brain, coupled with this he now has more than enough ammunition for his next _that’s-not-even-a-sexy-one!_ daydream, he can tell.

“So added bonus, now I’m not dressed like your mom!” she says brightly, and he clears his throat uncomfortably at the association.

Rebecca knots the Hawaiian shirt in the middle of her boobs with a gentle tug and offers him her arm.

“Milady. Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

“So it was no San Diego, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.”

“Well we could have gone to Sea World, if somebody wasn’t all cut up about some movie she watched on Lifetime -”

“Uh, it was a world renowned documentary, thank you very much. And if you remotely cared about the whales, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

The truth is, overall quality of the exhibits aside, their daytrip to the Los Angeles zoo has been a definite improvement on their last impromptu excursion. Rebecca is chatty and receptive, and - he notices, not for the first time – overwhelmingly tactile; her fingers squeeze excitedly at his shoulder blade whenever she spots an animal she finds particularly charming or adorable, and on more than one occasion he finds himself being insistently tugged along in her chosen direction by her hand folding firmly into his.

His spirits dampen momentarily when he finds the Plimpton logo under the list of corporate sponsors on the newly constructed elephant exhibit, but then Rebecca’s back beside him with a paddle of pale pink fairy floss the size of a small toddler, and she doesn’t relent until he allows her to force feed him a sliver of the wispy sticky fluff, distracting him with thoughts of how many calories he just consumed in that tiny mouthful of pure, sickly sugar.

They exit through the gift shop, Rebecca absently trailing her hand over the rows of plastic tubs filled with tiny animal figurines until she stops at the tigers, picking two of them up and rearranging them on the shelf so that they’re standing nose to nose.

“Oh,” she says suddenly, spotting something in the back corner. “Oh, it’s so big. It’s completely over the top. It’s incredible. It’s obscene.”

He rolls his eyes.

“The only thing obscene about that will be its completely unjustifiable price tag.”

“Can we get it, can I have it, can we get it, please, please, _pleeeeeease_ ,” she begs.

“What are you, twelve?”

They both know immediately that he’s going to buy her the dumb gorilla, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to maintain a shred of his dignity by at least pretending to put up a semblance of a fight first. The truth is, watching her eyes light up and the rambling way she’s talking is the most animated he’s seen her in a long while, and it makes his chest feel warm and tight.

While he reluctantly passes over his credit card Rebecca unfastens the red Hawaiian shirt from around her midriff and pulls it over the silverback’s plush arms before presenting it to him with a triumphant flourish.

“Iconic. I’m so glad I contributed -” He glances down at the receipt the cashier passes him back with his card. “- two hundred and thirty nine dollars to this modern day masterpiece.”

She smiles at him angelically, and he trails behind her as she all but skips back to the car, cursing himself for finding her so endearing.

 

* * *

 

“So I have to have dinner with my mother tonight before we go back. You don’t have to come. You’re invited – but you don’t have to come.”

His tone is nonchalant but she can tell by the way he’s not looking at her that a part of him is worried she’ll say no.

“Nice try, you’re not getting rid of me that easy. By the way, I hope your mother is ready to be wowed, because not to brag or anything, but with the glaring exception of my own, all parents love me.”

She flicks her hair breezily for effect.

“Yeah, I can see how your little people-pleasing shtick would have knocked the socks off the folks back home, but the Plimptons are not so easily impressed, so don’t be disappointed if you don’t end up with a return invitation.”

“What, you think you’re better than me?” She sits up straight when he doesn’t respond, instead pulling a noncommittal face that’s only half convincing. “Oh my god. You do. You think you’re better than me.”

“I think that my mom will think that she’s better than you, yes. You’re associated with me, for starters, which has always been a pretty good magnet for judgement in the past.”

 

He takes a quick shower and changes back into his usual clothes while she freshens up, letting down part of her updo and touching up her eyeliner. He frowns at her whilst towelling the excess water from his hair.

“Are you wearing a cardigan? And a brooch? What are you, eighty?”

“People wear these,” she says defensively. She fiddles with the floral pin. “Hey, do you think if I bug her enough your mom will show me lots of embarrassing photos of you as a child?”

“Ha, not likely. My parents didn’t take photos of me of a child for exactly that reason.”

“Wait, what?”

“When I was younger, I… may have carried a little extra weight,” he says self-consciously, placing his hands on his hips.

“He said, surprising absolutely no one,” she says under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing! Just that your family sounds like delightful garbage and I can’t wait to have dinner with them.”

 

* * *

 

“Your grandfather won’t be joining us this evening – he had other matters to attend to. So I’m afraid it’s going to be just the three of us, Ms…?”

“Bunch. Rebecca Bunch. We met yesterday. Please, call me Rebecca.”

Nathaniel pulls out a chair for her and she sits obediently, unable to stop herself from pulling a face at the weird formality of it all. He takes the setting opposite her, his eyes flicking briefly to the empty place at the head of the table where his father once presided.

“Very well then. Rebecca. I was surprised to hear you’re still in town after the funeral. Don’t you have work?”

“Actually, Rebecca and I drove down together,” Nathaniel answers for her, sensing her hesitation. “We’re heading back tomorrow.”

“You’re heading back? So soon?”

“Well this isn’t exactly a holiday. I’m needed back at the office. It’s what Pops would have wanted, don’t you think?”

His mother balances her knife and fork politely on the side of her plate and regards her son with a tight smile.

“Nathaniel, what I think is that it’s time for you to come home. Whatever you were trying to prove with your little experiment out in the San Gabriel Valley, it’s over. It’s done. Your father was getting ready to sell; the buyers are probably all still lined up. Let Charles handle it and you can come back to the family firm and take over operations here while -”

He holds up a hand to stop her.

“Wait, back up - Pops was getting ready to sell?”

“Of course he was, dear – that place was never destined for anything worthwhile. Just a bit of character building, that’s all. And now you’re ready -”

He cuts her off with a dark laugh, pointing his fork at her accusingly.

“Ready. Right. Except that I’m not really ready, am I? He never decided that I’d built up my character enough, that I’d passed this latest stupid test, that I was worthy of _anything_ he had planned for me. The man just dropped dead, and I got given a pass by default. He didn’t send me to West Covina to build my character. He sent me there so he could tell me what a disappointment I was once a fortnight by fax instead of having to look me in the eyes and say it every day. Joke’s on him though, because moving out there certainly did wonders for my character. Just not in any way that he would have cared for.”

“It seems you’re making a habit out of these unpleasant outbursts,” his mother says through thin lips. “We can discuss this later, when we don’t have company. You should finish your dinner. Eat some real food for once, instead of whatever godawful takeout I’m sure you’ve been living off in that bachelor’s pad of yours.”

Rebecca can see the whites of his knuckles as he scrunches the napkin from his lap and deposits it on the table.

“Forgive me, but I’ve lost my appetite,” he responds coolly, the legs of his chair scraping against the wood floor as he pushes forcefully away from the table.

There’s an awkward beat.

“So thanks for dinner, the roast was divine. You have a lovely home. Compliments to the chef, et cetera et cetera. But if you don’t mind I’m going to just excuse myself,” Rebecca announces, voice unnaturally cheery, before carefully pushing her chair in and darting after Nathaniel up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, you’ve really gotta start giving me a little more warning when you hightail it like that, because this house is really big and old and confusing and I have no idea where I’m going,” she jokes when she finds him. “So this is teenage Nathaniel’s room, huh?” she wonders out loud, trailing her finger along the picture rail. “It looks… almost exactly like grown up Nathaniel’s room, go figure.”

He glances up at her from where he’s been sitting on the end of the bed, head in his hands.

“My mother’s redecorated a little since I left but yeah, this was pretty much it. My family was always more into displaying trophies and awards than toys and knick knacks.”

“So, what? No notches on the bedposts, no dirty posters on the wall?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her.

“I was still a teenage boy. We always have our ways.”

She sits down next him on the grey coverlet and slips out of her shoes, drawing her knees up onto the bed beside her.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

“I honestly don’t know anymore. I will be. Eventually. Today was… really nice, actually. Up until dinner, that is. I’m sorry about all that, with my mom. And don’t worry; I’m not going to let anything happen with the firm. I just –”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. I’ve been blindsided by my mother over dinner more times than I can count. I can’t eat braised cabbage anymore for that exact reason.”

She nudges him with her shoulder and he manages to twist his mouth into a semblance of a smile. But then he draws a shaky breath and starts blinking away moisture from his eyes and her heart squeezes painfully in her chest.

“Nathaniel,” she says quietly, and he shakes his head, drawing his lips tight.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine,” he repeats, as if saying something twice with feeling makes it true.

She twists up onto her knees and touches an open palm to the side of his face, and before she knows what she’s doing, she’s pressing a quick chaste kiss to the side of his mouth.

That manages to get his attention; his confused eyes find hers and the raw vulnerability she sees there makes her throat feel suddenly too tight. His gaze flickers down towards her mouth momentarily and she feels her lips part gently of their own accord.

_One, two, three, four…_

She surges into him, then, and hard; fingers anchoring into his messy hair as his hands come up to her waist on autopilot. When her knees shift to straddle him he acquiesces and pulls her into his lap, tipping back onto the mattress at their combined momentum as he kisses her like he’s drowning, and she supposes in a way that might be true.

The salt she tastes on his skin reminds her briefly of that time she made out with Greg at Beans’ party, but she pushes that thought down and away before it can lead to other thoughts about other people she’s made out with in times of emotional duress that she doesn’t want to think about. There’s a nagging feeling, something like a warning sign, maybe, but she thinks if she just moves faster, if she could just get at the last of his buttons and if he touches her _god yes there_ then maybe she won’t have to think anymore at all. Because if she’s honest with herself she’s _tired_ , not just physically, and sick of all the self-examining and policing her own behaviour when what she really thinks she needs right now is to remember they’re both capable of feeling something other than _sad_.

But because the mental alarm bells weren’t enough of course the universe sends her a literal one; her phone rings just as his fingers are tugging gently at the belt of her yellow sundress and she mentally curses the mocking cadence of Paula’s personal ringtone as it fills the dimness of the bedroom. It’s enough to clear her head, and startlingly so - she tears her lips away from Nathaniel’s, gasping, and rests her forehead bruisingly against his.

This isn’t _fair -_

“Oh god, I’m such an asshole. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but we can’t do this now,” she breathes, hands shaking as she hastily tries to re-knot her dress. “I want to. I know I started it and I’m an asshole but please, please believe me that this isn’t a rejection.”

“Rebecca. Rebecca, wait -”

“I’m sorry.”

She scrambles off him and grabs her shoes and is out the door before he can respond, and as he drops his hammering skull back on the against the headboard with a sigh he can’t help but think about how Rebecca Bunch is making a disconcerting habit out of fleeing apologetically from his bed.

 

* * *

 

“Where have you been?” he demands when she resurfaces in the hotel lobby the next morning, ten minutes before they’re due to check out. “I’ve left you about a dozen messages. Where did you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” she says flatly, and when he raises his eyebrows she adds, “I’m fine. I just went for a walk. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything stupid. Well, not _after_ I ran out of your mom’s house, anyway.”

He knows she doesn’t mean it as an insult but her words still _sting_.

“I already brought your bags down.”

“Thanks.”

She’s keenly aware that she’s still wearing the stupid dress from the day before, the one she’d modelled for him at the zoo and that his hands had clung to so desperately as she crawled over him in his childhood bedroom; she blinks furiously as she thrusts her hand into the top of her case and pulls out the first cleanish set of clothes she can find before trudging sullenly off to the bathroom to change.

She doesn’t utter a word to him the entire drive home, forehead pressed against the window, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his eyes boring into her at every traffic light, desperate for her to say something, _anything_ to ease the panic growing inside him with every second her silence extends. When he pulls up outside her place she wordlessly tugs her suitcase off the back seat and as he watches her in the rear view mirror his eyes fall on the stupid gorilla toy she’d needled him into buying and he makes an agitated noise in the back of his throat. He’s done giving her space, he decides, closing the driver’s side door purposefully as his fingers manage to wrap around her arm and jerk her back towards him.

“C’mon, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

He releases his hold on her but she turns and looks at him, finally, fidgeting uncomfortably with her keys. She looks timid and helpless and  _small_ again, and some of his irritation softens and melts away.

“I’m not. I’m not shutting you out. I just – maybe Paula was right. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t hang out. I’m not being fair to you. I’m in no state to be offering comfort to anybody. I thought I was being a good friend, but I just ended up hurting you more.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m a big boy, Rebecca. And whilst I agree it wasn’t particularly ego boosting having you bolt like that – _again_ \- it was totally justified. I’m sorry if I did anything to push you -”

“No! No. You’ve been wonderful. God. I was the one that jumped you while you were a helpless blubbering mess. It was just… you were so sad, and it made me sad, and I… I just wanted to give you something that you wanted.”

“Jesus, Rebecca,” he exhales loudly, and she growls and scrubs at her face in frustration.

“Ugh! That came out way more fucked up than I intended. I need to stop talking.” She pauses, looking up at him imploringly through her lashes. “Both of us. I wanted to give both of us something that we wanted.”

He realises suddenly that maybe she’s not the only one that’s been seeing herself as an endgame reward for his good behaviour, and self-loathing coils in the pit of his stomach.

“God,” he says, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets in frustration. “Is this ever going to stop being fucked up enough to work?”

She thinks about the walk she took to clear her head after she ran away, and how she’d turned her phone over and over in her hands after rejecting Paula’s call but how eventually, she’d forced herself to hit redial, somehow managing to call herself out on two self-destructive behaviours in one night and wondering why she hadn’t just gone for the trifecta and thrown her mother into the mix, too.

She regards him, then; standing in front of her on her porch in his slacks and rumpled dress shirt – this twisted mirror of herself that somehow, after everything, was still just patiently waiting for her to get her shit together.

“Yes,” she says quietly, but oddly calm. “Yes. Because I’m not there yet, but I’m seeing things clearly enough to _know_ that I’m not there yet. So I have to believe that the answer is yes. I’m never going to stop being broken. But I’m going to be better. I want to be better.” She wrings her hands and remembers all the things his mother said to him at dinner. “Are you going to come back to work?”

“For now, yes. In the long run - I don’t know,” he admits. “Are you?”

She shrugs.

“For now, no. But in the long run - I don’t know.”

He nods and rubs his chin, trying to decide what he wants to say.

“Rebecca, I like you. I’m not embarrassed to say that – at least not anymore. But it’s not just about glitter, whatever you might think. I enjoy being around you. When you’re not trying to seduce me into doing your evil bidding I actually think you make me a better person. And whilst I’m sure I could have made it through the last three days without you, it would have been so much worse, and I’m really glad I didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” she says eventually. “Okay. I’m glad. You are welcome.”

“Okay then. I guess I will… see you around.”

There’s a note of resignation in his voice that she doesn’t want to think about, and after she watches him get back into his car and pull out of her driveway, she leans back against her door and lets herself cry.

 

* * *

 

She gives herself a year.

A year of solid committed therapy and consistently taking all of her meds; of diligent journaling, routine-establishing, of hashing out uneasy topics with her mother and setting personal boundaries with Paula. Three months in she decides she’s finally ready to go back to work and asks Darryl if there’s still a place for her at the office; Darryl responds with an overly enthusiastic bear hug that she probably should have seen coming. She manages to focus with renewed clarity upon her work, which she realises she actually genuinely enjoys, regardless of how she ended up here. She agrees to help Maya to set up a mentorship program aimed at empowering and supporting local teenage girls and when she finally plucks up the courage to audition for the West Covina community theatre’s amateur production of _Rent,_ Paula and her entire family are cheering her on from the front row on opening night.

She starts looking for _hobbies_ – she Heather and Valencia take turns picking obscure classes at the Y and they laugh their way through evenings of terrible pottery and uncoordinated hip hop dancing and learning to speak broken Italian because she thinks one day she really would like to visit Rome. Her hair grows long, further past her shoulders than it’s been since she was young and _wavy_ , and when she inevitably sees Josh Chan across the street every now and again it still _hurts,_ and it’s always going to, but it doesn’t leave her reeling and empty and raw like it would have before.

She regrets deeply mostly everything that happened between her and Josh but she decides she can’t bring herself to regret bumping in to him that day in New York, not really. It just took her way too long to realise that the lie she told everyone had been in its own way a backwards kind of truth – all this time she hasn’t been searching for a person but a _home,_ and West Covina has become that to her, despite everything that’s happened here - she sees that now.

Nathaniel starts splitting his time between Whitefeather and his family’s firm back in LA, reluctantly taking a backseat to Darryl, who he begrudgingly acknowledges isn’t as incompetent as he mostly manages to look. They don’t really talk about it but she knows he’s been seeing a therapist himself, which has allowed him in turn to somewhat patch things up with his mother. They weren’t exactly going to be holding hands and singing Kumbaya around a campfire anytime soon, but neither were her and Naomi, and that was okay, too. At least neither of them visibly flinched every time a call came through from back home anymore.

She gives herself an entire year, and when the Google Cal alert that Nathaniel is going to be back in town just in time for the weekend hits her mailbox, she chews her lip and swings by the supermarket after work.

He looks tired from the drive when he opens the door but pleasantly surprised to see her, his face crinkling into an easy smile. He hasn’t shaved and the dusting of stubble on his cheeks makes her toes curl involuntarily inside of her shoes.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoes, suddenly nervous. “Can I come in?”

He waves her inside and it’s at this point that he notices she’s holding something. She follows his gaze down to her hands and the words start tumbling out of her mouth, unbidden.

“So I got you something,” she blurts, indicating her cargo before placing it unceremoniously on his kitchen countertop. “It’s a pear. It’s a stupid little basket with a pear and a dumb salt shaker in reference to that gift basket you sent me and then we had that whole thing over the thank you note, because I’m an idiot and I’m trying to make a gesture here without making it into too much of a thing because at their core a lot of big romantic gestures are actually inherently manipulative and gross,” she explains as an aside.

He laughs softly.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Okay, great.”

She takes a deep breath before dropping down on one knee and Nathaniel’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Nathaniel Plimpton, will you attempt engaging in some semblance of a healthy, stable and supportive relationship with me, that isn’t entirely based on sex or borne out of acting out against a myriad of complex childhood issues which we both share?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. That depends,” he replies, pretending to consider it. “Can it be at least partially based on sex?”

She licks her lips.

“I mean, I feel like a good seventy five percent of it could realistically be based on mind-blowing sex before we’d start to have a problem, so yeah.”

“Sounds like my kind of partnership.”

“Nathaniel?”

“Mmm?”

“Could you maybe help me up now? Because if I stay down here any longer I’m going to need some sort of pillow. Also, I’ve kind of been celibate for over a year and I think that’s really approaching the outer limits of my self-contr-”

He cuts her off by hoisting her into his arms and she responds with a delighted shriek.

“Bed?”

“Bed,” she affirms before crashing her lips into his.

 

* * *

 

“Huh, weird,” she says thoughtfully, _after,_ sprawled out languid and boneless, Nathaniel’s legs still entangled deliciously with her own.

“Mmm?” he murmurs, barely awake but carding his hand absent-mindedly through her hair.

“It’s just that normally after some kind of momentous occasion like this, I do this thing where I imagine this whole kind of musical number in my head to make sense of it. But this time, I got nothing.”

He cracks open an eyelid.

“Is that meant to be some kind of insult against my technique?”

“No! No. There are zero complaints in that department, buddy, believe me.”

His eyes fall shut again, smiling contentedly before mustering the energy to roll her beneath him.

“Better,” she sighs raggedly as he lowers his mouth back towards hers, sinking over her, into her, overflowing.

“For the first time in a long time, real life is just… better.”

 

This _is_ what happy feels like.

And for once, there’s no need for glitter or music at all.


End file.
